PAIRING | vampire!prince!ni-ki x gn!vampire!reader
CAST | nishimura riki, yang jungwon, kim sunoo, park sunghoon, jake sim, jay park, lee heeseung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, bang chan, min yoongi, mentions of lee minho, choi beomgyu
WC | 31.3k
GENRE | dark fantasy, royalty!au, vampire!au, body switch!au, enemies to lovers to enemies, angst
WARNINGS | gore, bullying due to social hierarchy, explicit language, major character death, ni-ki uses “vampire slurs” in a very derogatory way, blood drinking in a non-sexual manner, public humiliation, technical cannibalism, graphic descriptions of death, subtle allusions to racism and classism irl by using the aforementioned vampire hierarchy, choking, all-around violence, bad relationships with family, mentions of public hanging, one mention of the royal title “princess”, guilt
SYNOPSIS | the vampire hierarchy is built upon the four ancient pure-blooded families: the lee family, the park family, the kim family, and the nishimura family. the nishimura family is the purest of them all, and the crown prince nishimura riki knows it: and he makes sure that everyone around him knows it too. however, there are loopholes and tricks that one can use to worm their way into the elite society and rub shoulders with the royals, which half-blood (y/n) (l/n) has taken advantage of. but riki doesn’t like the scum that’s beginning to rot away his golden crown, and it becomes a cat-and-mouse game of who can top the other, until one day an unexpected accident brings them closer together, and then further apart than they could ever imagine.
A/N | this is my addition to the underworld eclipse collab hosted by @wonjaems, @dimplehyunn, and @iwonzzi! make sure to check out all of the other stories in this collab, as they are absolutely wonderful! a very special thank you to the hosts and co-host of this collab, along with everyone else who participated in it. this fic was a long time coming, and i hope that you enjoy—it sure took a lot out of me.
request to be added to current and future taglists here!
MASTERLIST | TEASER
prologue.
Fate was a cruel hunter.
As you stood in the middle of the vast ballroom, filled to the brim with glitzy, uptight purebloods, you thought you would rather die than move a damned muscle. Dark, thick blood dripped down your face, turning your vision red for more than one reason. Yet, you didn’t move; you were frozen, stuck to the polished floors, unable to even let out a peep as hushed whispers and murmurs swept the room. It was only when he jumped down in front of you, landing only slightly awkwardly on his feet, that everything clicked into place, and you took off running through the halls, as if you were Cinderella and the clock had just struck midnight.
But of course, you were no princess, and this was no fairy tale.
No. This was something much darker, and you were something much less pure.
Your fangs emerged at the scent of fresh blood, and you collapsed as you finally reached the bottom of the grand staircase, the scent completely overwhelming your senses.
We are very excited to welcome our new Resident to Cosy Home!
@petrichor-han
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idiosyncrasies and other little things; hansol vernon chwe
PAIRING | stoner!vernon x afab!reader
CAST | hansol vernon chwe
WC | 5.5k
GENRE | smut, fluff, very slight angst, college!au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers
WARNINGS | casual marijuana usage (hitting the penjamin and smokin' a j), explicit language, explicit sexual content, miscommunication :( but happy ending :), embarrassing scene where he hugs reader in public
SYNOPSIS | you’ve been friends with vernon chwe ever since you met him at freshman orientation and he slipped you a messily rolled joint behind the tour guide’s back. three and a half years later his rolling skills aren’t the only thing that’s changed for the better, but you begin to realize that your time with him is running out as your graduation date steadily approaches.
A/N | i don’t know who started the stoner!vernon trope but thank you and god bless to whoever it was 🙏 here’s my contribution to the trope—a very american COLLEGE 🦅🇺🇸 stoner vern au. please reblog and consider leaving a few kind words if you enjoyed this fic!! <3
request to be added to current and future taglists HERE!
MASTERLIST | SEVENTEEN MASTERLIST
His fingers are slightly clammy as they brush against yours and drop the small, cylindrical shaped joint in your hand. You enclose your fingers around it as he retracts his hand, his flushed skin brushing against yours once more just momentarily—but it’s enough to make you almost choke on your own breath.
The joint itself is small and messily packed—you can tell from the way it’s already all bent out of shape and dented, simply from him handing it to you. The rolling paper is slightly damp as well—from his sweaty palms, or yours? Likely, both. Regardless, it’s a kind gesture, and you can’t help but flash him a smile as the cheery RA rambles on in front of your entire small group. You can feel yourself drifting away from the scene, everyone’s voices getting drowned out as your gaze locks with his—his eyes are a warm, hazel-y color that reminds you of new leaves sprouting across warm caramel colored branches in the springtime, and you can’t help but stare back at him, your hand squeezing into a fist and further squishing the joint in your hand with a soft crunch.
Crunch.
You open your eyes, and then immediately narrow them at the culprit of the sound, the one that’s responsible for waking you from your dream of the past. It’s no other than the other main character in said dream—your best friend and roommate, Vernon Chwe. He stands at your bedside, shoving bites of cereal into his mouth as he watches you sleep, with a smirk on his face.
“What the hell do you want?” you say, your voice quite bitter and laced with a raspy quality that only occurs in the early moments of your awakening.
“You were saying my name in your sleep,” Vernon says, around a mouthful of cornflakes and granola. Somehow, he wedges a grin in there as well, his mouth full of smugness and off-brand cereal. “I heard you when I was walking by, so I came in.”
You feel your stomach flip—firstly, you weren’t aware that you ever talked in your sleep, and secondly, out of everyone you could’ve been dreaming about, it had to be the one person you currently live with? Trying to be nonchalant, you close your eyes again and turn over so that he can’t see your face, unable to prevent the heat that’s rising to your cheeks as you think about the not so minor crush that you’ve been nursing on your best friend for the past four years. “Yeah, I was dreaming about our freshman orientation. I was saying your name because I remembered how you made me late for class the next day,” you say, walking the fine line between honesty and fibbing.
“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” he says, rolling his eyes. He sets his spoon down in his cereal bowl with a clink. “You’ve only reminded me daily, for the past four years, about how I abandoned you at the dining hall. How was I supposed to know you didn’t know your way to class from there?” he asks, making the same excuse he’s made for the past four years.
“It was the first day of class for us, ever. I didn’t know where anything was,” you retaliate, with the same retort you’ve used in response to Vernon for as long as you can remember.
“Good to know that you feel the same about me in your dreams and real life,” he snorts, turning on his heel to leave your room. His cereal bowl is empty, and he has class in just half an hour—you know this, having lived with him for roughly three years now. His habits haven’t changed much, and disappointingly, neither has your dynamic. After your initial crush on him during your freshman orientation, it fizzled out once you realized he didn’t seem to have any romantic interest in you. However, a hint of a crush remained, despite your best efforts to quench it. Certain things, like the way he had a turtle shaped night light in his dorm room, or the way he looked during finals week when his hair was all messy and hastily stuffed underneath a hood or a beanie, made your heart race no matter how you tried to stop it.
Really, there was just something about Vernon Chwe that your heart—and your mind—couldn’t forget, no matter how much you wanted to.
No matter how close you got to him as a friend, and now as a roommate, a part of you was always hoping for more. Every little touch made your eyes immediately fixate on his expression, to see if he felt anything. Every kind gesture made you wonder if he was just doing something nice for a friend, or if he was doing it for a different reason. After all, he was the sort of person that was just generally nice to everyone, even complete strangers. His inclination of kindness to strangers was sort of the way that you two met—him slipping you a joint in the middle of a lousy speech from an annoying RA about dormitory safety. An unspoken promise to new friendship, and also to meet in the woods behind the dorm building after the horribly optimistic speech ended.
As you ponder this, you consider staying in bed longer, pulling the sheets over your head and trying to fall back asleep, but then you decide against it—it’s not worth running the risk of sleeping through class. Though your first class doesn’t start as early as Vernon’s, it’s not that much later either. Sighing, you get out of bed, rubbing your tired eyes, and start to get ready for the day.
As you brush your teeth, Vernon peeks into your bathroom, as he fixes the sleeve on his denim jacket. You turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.
“We should probably start packing tonight,” he says, as he finally fixes the button on the sleeve of his jacket and looks at you directly, his eyes meeting yours. You look away, feeling your heart starting to thump in your chest, and spit a glob of toothpaste into the sink. You turn on the water, watching it wash the foamy white substance down the drain, as Vernon continues to talk. “We have to move out by next week, but I think we can just start throwing our shit into boxes and call it good. It won’t be that hard.”
Right.
After four years of college—three of which were spent living together—it was time to move on, graduate, and be a real god damn adult. You almost swallow the toothpaste residue in your mouth as Vernon reminds you of this harsh reality. In about a week, you wouldn’t be living with your best friend any more, but instead living at home with your parents until you find a place and job of your own. And with the current state of the job market, you had no clue how long that would take. The thought of living at home again as an adult made you want to rip out your hair, but it was the better option when you considered the other one was to confess your feelings to Vernon and ask him to get a place together, as a couple instead of as friends.
You take a deep breath. Technically, you didn’t have to confess your feelings. But how much longer could you go on like this, living with someone that you’re secretly pining for? It was fine during the on and off crushes you had on him throughout college, but as your senior year progressed, so did your crush on him. Now, it was nearly stifling to pretend you didn’t harbor any romantic feelings towards him, and act like you didn’t care whenever he mentioned some romantic venture or Tinder hookup (though, luckily for you, they were quite sporadic and never turned into anything that serious).
“Yeah, we could start with the shared spaces and start dividing up all the stuff there,” you say, thinking about all of the knick knacks that litter the shelves and walls of your living room and kitchen. You rinse your mouth, and then start to wash your face. Vernon leans against your doorframe, watching you.
“How are we supposed to split up the things that we’ve shared for the past few years?” he asks, watching as you pat your face dry with a towel. “I’d feel bad keeping them, but I’d feel sad if I didn’t get to keep anything, either.”
“We’ll figure it out, now go,” you say, nudging him out of the bathroom. You can feel your emotions threatening to climb up your throat and spill from your lips—he looked so handsome standing there, leaning so casually against your door. His hair, slightly grown out and wavy, was falling into his hazel-y brown eyes as he looked at you. How were you meant to resist that look, especially when he paired it with a subtle pout upon his lips? It made you blush and your mind go fuzzy with adoration. Purely embarrassing—it was like you were a tween girl fawning over her first crush.
“Wait, don’t you want to smoke before we go to class?” he asks, deepening his pout and holding up a joint that he pulled from his pocket.
“Smoke, before we go to class,” you emphasize to clarify, raising an eyebrow. Vernon simply nods, a smile gracing his stupidly handsome face.
“It’s the last week of class, come on. We’re not learning anything new any more,” he says, his voice slightly whiny. You can’t help but feel slightly happy that he wants you to smoke with him so bad—it’s nice to feel wanted by him. “And besides, it’s only a little.” He pinches his thumb and pointer finger together and squints. “Lil’ bit.”
You almost roll your eyes, but catch yourself, and just chuckle instead. You want to cherish these moments, before you move out and all the memories of living with Vernon inevitably pale and then fade away. “Fine,” you say. “Let me finish getting ready for class first, I’ll be right out.”
With a gummy smile that almost makes you physically sick with how adorable it is, Vernon leaves you to finish getting ready.
A few minutes later, you’re pulling a jacket on over your thin shirt—it’s still a little chilly in the mornings—and walking out of your bedroom. Vernon’s standing by the large window in the main room of your apartment—the only one that opens more than a few inches. He’s opened it all the way, and he’s leaning out, enjoying the morning air. He has a slight smile on his face as a breeze rustles his soft brown hair.
Sneaking up behind him, you snatch the joint from his unprepared, loose grip and exclaim in triumph. “Got it!” you sing, grinning as you dance around him. You hold it between your teeth gently as you hold still for a moment to light it, inhaling deeply. You lean out the window next to Vernon, who’s still softly chuckling at your antics, and pass the joint to him as you hold the breath for a moment before exhaling. Coughing, you look over at him. “This tastes kinda strong,” you choke, your eyes watering slightly.
“I had to get out the good stuff for our last week living together,” he says, grinning cheekily. “Have fun in class while being baked out of your mind.”
“Fuck you, man,” you groan, but he just snickers and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. Your cheeks flush as you feel his lean, muscular body pressed to yours.
“Come on, you know you feel great right now,” he teases lightly, gently squeezing you in a side hug.
Stiffening, you chuckle awkwardly, feeling your heart beating faster. You were afraid he might be able to hear it, but a small part of you almost wanted him to hear it—to know the truth about how he made you feel. That, paired with the weed in your system, made you lean into his touch more, instead of pulling away like you normally would. He grins at this, and reaches up to ruffle your hair gently. He doesn’t say anything else, letting up on the teasing—which you’re grateful for, as it allows you to fully concentrate on the smell of his cologne and the deep, steady thudding of his heartbeat.
You watch as he turns his head away for a moment to take another hit from the joint, his neck muscles flexing beneath his beautiful, smooth skin. The sharp curve of his jawline clenches as he tightens his lips around the joint, inhaling deeply. He looks like some sort of god—how was it possible for a human being to be this ethereal, this close to perfection?
It comes out before you can stop it—before you even fully realize what you’re doing, and surely before you even think about the consequences of it.
“You’re beautiful.”
Your voice is soft and full of adoration—even the most clueless romantic would be able to pick up on it. Immediately, you press your lips together, in fear of more word vomit—or real vomit—escaping.
Vernon stiffens, and then he pulls away as he starts to choke on the deep inhale he’d just taken, clouds of smoke billowing around his face as he leans out the window to try and wave the stench of marijuana outside. Your blood turns to ice as you scramble for an excuse; you’re given a short window of time as he practically hacks up his own lungs and hangs onto the windowsill for dear life.
You flinch as his coughing starts to subside, and you realize you still don’t have anything else to say—no excuse, no explanation—your mind has simply gone blank.
Naturally, you do the first thing that any intoxicated, lovesick person would do in this situation—you run away from it.
You turn on your heel, grabbing your backpack from its place on the coat hooks by the front door, and run out of the apartment that you and Vernon share. You’re not sure if he turned to look at you, if he even saw you running away—you didn’t bother to turn around and break your own heart further.
Even though it’s still an hour before your class starts, you find yourself ambling towards the general direction of the building regardless. Your apartment complex is quite close to your college campus, but it still takes a short while to walk there.
If there was one lucky thing about your abysmal morning, it was the weather. As you start to slow your pace, looking over your shoulder to make sure Vernon isn’t following you or anything, the bright morning sunshine smiles down on you. There’s only a few clouds in the sky, and they’re puffy and white, drifting lazily across the wide blue expanse. Other students are enjoying the sunshine, already out and about in the early morning and sunbathing or throwing a ball around on the field across from the building you’re currently walking to. You almost crack a smile—it reminds you of the first year that you attended school on this campus, when you and Vernon attempted to follow the masses and try to sunbathe on the field, only to end up getting horribly sunburnt in the process. “It’s not even summer yet!” Vernon had protested angrily, as he rubbed aloe into his lobster red skin, sitting on the patchwork rug on the floor of your tiny dorm room. “It’s only the beginning of May!”
You approach your destination with a grim look on your face. No longer are you among the dozens of bright, young faces that are enjoying the sunshine in their best years. Now, you’re facing adulthood—and likely, without your best friend by your side, since you’ve clearly retained your childish insistence upon avoiding your problems and quite literally running away from them. The thought makes your chest ache with longing and regret, so you push the thought from your mind and start to walk up the stairs, almost grateful for the guaranteed to be boring lecture—maybe it’ll take your mind off of things for a bit?
Unfortunately, as you reach the top of the stairs, you see Vernon standing by the front entrance, checking his phone with a worried expression on his face. For a moment, you freeze—this is a chance to correct your wrongdoings, to show your growth and be honest with Vernon, as he deserves.
But it’s just a fleeting thought, and humans are inherently selfish, after all.
So you run away again. Slower this time, simply walking back down the stairs with your heart thudding madly in your chest, hoping that he doesn’t recognize you. Your guilt increases as you realize he’s missing class while he’s waiting for you, and you stop walking, freezing as you cling to the railing of the staircase. He’s your best friend—outside of your romantic feelings for him, whether they’re reciprocated or not, he deserves better. Yet you stand there, your feet stuck to the concrete as you hesitate, even though you know it’s the right thing to do. It’s so difficult to turn around and really face it.
A gentle call of your name unfreezes you, allowing you to turn around and look.
It’s Vernon of course—it always has been, and it always will be.
His brow is furrowed, and as he realizes it is indeed you, he rushes towards you, taking the steps two at a time to get to you faster. Before you can even say anything in return, he engulfs you in a hug, wrapping his arms around you and gently placing a hand on the back of your head to press your face gently into his chest. His smell floods your senses, and tears prick your eyes. If there was some sort of higher being out there, how could they prevent you from having this simple joy in your life? The joy of being able to smell his cologne as he hugged you and pulled you close. There was nothing else that compared.
“Why’d you run?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion, with relief. “I was worried. It’s not like you.”
It is like me, you think, grimly. “I don’t know. I thought you might get angry with me,” you mutter, embarrassment flooding your body as Vernon raises an eyebrow at you.
“What, for calling me beautiful?” he asks, chuckling slightly, nearly in disbelief.
“Not exactly,” you reply hastily, pulling away from the hug. People around you are beginning to look at the two of you as you’re locked in an embrace, and you don’t want to attract any more attention than you already have. It’s humiliating enough for only Vernon to hear your confession, even though it’s meant for him. “For liking you as more than a friend.”
Is there a word to describe the feeling that went through your body as you said those few words? It felt comparable to ice flooding your veins, to a wave of electricity running through your body—yet somehow, more deep and cutting and painful than either of those examples. There simply isn’t any expression or euphemism in the language to explain the horror and fear you felt as you watched Vernon’s eyes widen—so he hadn’t picked up on it, even then? Even after you called him beautiful, and ran away like a lovesick fool? Maybe you’re not the most clueless romantic—he’s the first, and you’re the lucky second.
“You like me?” he asks, dumbfounded. He raises his eyebrows so high that his forehead wrinkles, that you can see the whites of his eyes.
You look at the ground, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the concrete. “Yeah,” you mumble, unsure of how you’re feeling—a complex mixture of shame, relief, fear, and everything in between.
A dreadful silence falls between the two of you, prompting you to look up at him to hopefully understand a smidge of what he’s thinking. He looks gorgeous in the morning sunlight, and he reaches up to scratch his head, his expression simply perplexed. “… Why?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.
You’re surprised—Vernon, ever the predictable, introverted creature, has surprised you for the first time in years. How doesn’t he know? How doesn’t he understand?
You stand there, your tongue feeling swollen in your mouth as you file through your thoughts, desperately trying to encompass your nearly suffocating, complex emotions into words. It’s much harder to do when put on the spot, however, and you stand there spluttering like an idiot as you try to tell him something about the way his jeans fit on his hips and the way he only ever uses Dior Sauvage (a dab on the wrist and then rubbed onto his neck just below the jawline).
“I don’t know how to explain it to you,” you say, frantically, hoping that you won’t scare him away or freak him out. “It’s so many little things about you that made me realize how much I love you, in more ways than just friendship. I think… I think the mere idea of living without you and your nightlight and your stupid granola cereal is horrible. I don’t want to imagine it, let alone live it.” You throw your hands up in the air, feeling helpless, like you don’t know what else to do or say. “Fuck, dude. I just love you. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I just don’t ever want to lose you. I lived so many years without you but I can’t go back to that now. Not when I know what it’s like to be close to you.”
Your voice is soft at the end, as you’re afraid you might start to really cry, and you cross your arms over your chest and look down again, trying to will away the emotions that are surfacing after being bottled up for so long.
“You know I love you too, right?” Vernon says, his voice serious. He reaches forward to gently pull your arms out of the insecure position, and he laces his fingers with yours. “Even if I didn’t feel the same way, you’d still be my best friend.”
Squeezing his hands gently, you feel a million emotions rush through you at once—mainly relief, and then shock as you realize he feels the same way. You look up at him with desperate hope, tears burning your eyes, and find that he has the same expression on his face. He leans in slightly, and your heart skips a beat as you realize what he’s trying to initiate. Breathless, and tired of waiting, you lean forward too and press your lips to his, your heart fluttering as he kisses you back almost immediately, after his initial surprise.
“Does this mean we can both skip class today?” he asks hopefully, mumbling against your lips.
You chuckle, gently swinging your interlocked hands back and forth. “Yes,” you say, unable to resist his charms this time. “Let’s go home.”
Upon returning to your shared apartment, you see the few empty boxes littering the ground; you were both meant to start packing today. However, instead of feeling the deep sense of dread that had been bubbling up inside of you for weeks, you feel peace—you aren’t losing Vernon the day you move out, he was always going to be there for you. Whether that was as a friend, a roommate, or a boyfriend.
He seems to sense your contemplation, and gently presses a kiss to the top of your head. You can sense his hesitation, like he’s unsure if it’s something you’ll allow, and so you pull him into another passionate kiss, gently at first before descending into a mess of teeth and tongue.
He pushes you down onto the couch, as if his desire had been pent up all this time, admiring the view as you stare up at him with wide eyes—you’re surprised at his sudden passion.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, as he leans down to kiss your neck. His hands travel down to the hem of your shirt, but don’t slip underneath, waiting for your reassurance once again. Perhaps, another little thing that you liked about Vernon—his subtle submissiveness; his tendency and instinct to let you guide him. Something that was so rare among men, despite how childish the average one seems to be.
You reach down to gently guide his hands beneath your shirt, and when his hands cup your breasts his breath hitches slightly, as if he’s in disbelief that this is actually happening. He squeezes gently, eliciting a soft sigh from you. Groaning lowly, he pushes up your shirt—the mere feeling isn’t enough, he wants to see all of you as well.
A swift tangle of limbs, and your shirt flutters to the ground, discarded and forgotten about. Vernon’s eyes settle on your cleavage, the way your bra is slightly too tight on you (you’ve been putting off finding out your actual bra size; it’s a hassle) and makes your breasts spill over the cups slightly. His hands actually shake slightly as they raise up to cup your tits again, and he handles them gently, as if he’s afraid handling you too hard might cause you to melt in his hands, as if you were Icarus and he were the sun. You reach back to unclasp your bra, too impatient to let him attempt it, and he gently pulls it off of you, his eyes widening as he exhales deeply, in genuine awe of your body.
He leans forward, his hands sliding down to grab your waist, and presses gentle but sloppy kisses to your collarbone, his lips trailing down to the valley of your breasts. He moans against them, in absolute bliss. “Wanna see more of you… can I see more of you?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled as he keeps his face pressed in your cleavage.
“Greedy,” you tease, reaching up to ruffle his hair playfully, making him exclaim softly in exasperation. But you make it obvious what your answer is, as you reach down to undo the button of your jeans, climbing out of his lap to tug them off of your body. Vernon watches for a moment, mouth slightly agape as his gaze drops to the curve of your hips and the way your panties hug your ass just right, before he realizes that he should probably start taking off his clothes too. Blushing slightly, he hurries to take off his t-shirt, throwing it behind the couch accidentally and deciding that he would deal with it later. His fingers feel frozen and stubborn as he fumbles with his belt, and you have to stifle a giggle at his persistent awkwardness as you lay back on the couch lazily, your fingers skimming the edge of your panties.
Eventually, he gets the buckle undone and shoves his jeans down his legs. Once he straightens back up after stepping out of his pants, you feel a distinct throbbing between your legs as you see the noticeable bulge in his black boxer briefs. He notices your stare, and instead of teasing you, his cheeks flush darker as he kneels between your legs, hovering over you.
“You know it’s been a while since I’ve…” he says, trailing off. He looks away, clearing his throat and pretending like the deep red flush on his cheeks is nonexistent.
“Oh yeah, how could I forget the last Tinder hookup?” you say, chuckling despite the pang of hurt that cuts through your chest at the mere thought of Vernon being with anyone else besides you. “Why do you ask, though?”
Vernon clears his throat again, and you can’t help but let a little giggle slip this time at his demeanor, like he’s trying to impress you a little even though it’s just you. “I just… I wanna be good for you,” he says, his voice slightly whiny and desperate, making your mouth go dry. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” he pushes further, one of his hands sliding down the dip of your waist to grab the curve of your hip, squeezing gently.
“You won’t. You couldn’t,” you manage to say, swallowing hard as you feel heat rising to your cheeks—surely, soon your blush will resemble Vernon’s. “I just want you.”
Upon hearing that, Vernon groans softly, capturing your lips in a hot, messy kiss once more. You feel his tongue pressing against your lower lip, and you allow him entrance, whimpering softly as his free hand comes up to gently caress your jaw and pull you even closer. As if you could get any closer; your bare body pressed to his, your skin nearly melded together in a clash of perspiration and friction as you cling to each other desperately. Your mind is fuzzy with need as you reach down to swiftly pull off your panties, kicking them aside as Vernon follows your lead and pushes down his boxer briefs. Sneaking a glance before he pushes you down gently and positions himself between your legs, you feel a flash of excitement and anticipation as you see his size.
You catch your lower lip between your teeth, biting gently before letting go, exhaling deeply as you feel the blunt head of his cock slicking against your clit, and then against your entrance. He mutters, fuck, under his breath as he feels your silky folds against his tip, and as he presses harder against your tight hole, he looks up at you, catching your eye to make sure you still want this as much as he does. You give a slight nod, your gaze pleading with him to just do it already, and he does—he thrusts forward, pressing his cock into you, making your eyes widen and a high pitched whimper escapes your throat.
“Oh my God,” you say breathlessly, a slight moan edging into your voice as he bottoms out in your pussy, his hips flush against your supple flesh. One of his hands rests faithfully on your waist, just above your hip, while the other wanders up to gently squeeze your breasts. He can feel so much of you, and he wants more—perhaps greedy was the right word to describe him. He doesn’t think that he could ever go back to just being your friend, even if it’s selfish to think as much. Naturally, that’s when you choose to say it. “I love you,” you whisper, this time knowing exactly what you’re saying and not caring about the consequences. Vernon’s greedy heart flutters at your heartfelt declaration of love, and he leans down to kiss you as he starts to thrust into you, his hips smacking against yours as he fucks into you desperately, mercilessly.
“I love you too,” he moans, his grip on your waist tightening. It’s all he can muster out as he pounds into you, his thoughts clouded with pleasure and the absolutely ethereal sight of you, nude before his very eyes, all for his viewing pleasure and no one else’s.
He can feel it, and he knew from the beginning that he wouldn’t last long—which was why he was so concerned about it in the first place. He stifles a whine, and bites his tongue as he moves the hand that’s squeezing your tit down to toy with your clit, eliciting a gasp and a shaky moan from you. His fingers are slightly rough, calloused, and the friction on your sensitive nub makes you throw your head back as you moan with pleasure, feeling your orgasm starting to approach from the combined stimulation. You reach over to grab his arm, trying to steady yourself as you feel the powerful sensation approaching. The sound of skin against skin echoes around the room as he fucks into you more erratically, panting loudly. His fingers on your clit start to slip around from your wetness and his waning stamina, but he steadies himself and bites down on his lower lip, trying to hold out for you, just a little longer.
Your orgasm hits you like a wave, washing over your entire body and making you gasp and shiver. Vernon feels your pussy tightening around his length, his eyes widening as he pulls out quickly, groaning loudly as he spurts thick white ropes of cum onto your thighs and stomach. Breathing heavily, he lays down beside you, rolling onto his back. You both stare up at the ceiling, without saying anything. For a moment, the two of you lay there in near silence, as you catch your breaths and realize what really just happened. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Vernon shifting, turning his head to look at you.
You look back. He smiles at you, and you can’t help but return it, giggling at his goofy grin, at his messy hair, at everything. It’s all so perfect—he’s so perfect, in a way that only the two of you will ever understand.
Wordlessly, he reaches over to your coffee table and picks up one of his cartridges, attached to a battery. He hands it to you before taking a hit himself, grinning at you toothily, and you can’t help but grin back as you take the pen from him.
Truly, it’s the little things.
petrichor-han 2024. do not translate or repost without my permission.
CAST I sebastian, sam, abigail, maru (mentioned), harvey (mentioned), robin (mentioned), pierre (mentioned)
WC I 3.3k
GENRE | fluff, smut, established relationship
WARNINGS | explicit language, explicit sexual content, tattoos, fear of tattoos, playful banter, public sex, making out, grinding, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex
SYNOPSIS I sebastian isn't afraid of most things. he is, however, afraid of tattoos, public speaking, and most importantly, being made a fool in front of his dear farmer.
A/N I it's about time i write something for my #1 marriage candidate!! (why did it take me this long?) if you enjoyed this, my requests are currently open so feel free to request to your heart's content <3 please read through my guidelines before sending one in!!
request to be added to current and future taglists here!
MASTERLIST | STARDEW VALLEY MASTERLIST
Most of Sebastian’s fears weren’t tangible.
He wasn’t afraid of rainstorms, even when they were accompanied by loud thunder and flashes of violent lightning. He didn’t fear frogs, or snakes, or most creepy crawlies (although he had to admit, he had a certain distaste for centipedes). Heights, high speeds on his motorcycle, and being out alone late at night had little to no effect on him. In fact, he quite liked speeding up the side of his mountain on his motorcycle late at night by himself — all of those common fears put together made a thrilling experience for him to enjoy.
He definitely wasn’t fearless, though.
Something happening to his mom, or losing Sam and Abby always lingered in the back of his mind. Maru was there too, and although Sebastain would never admit it out loud to her, he sometimes worried about her when she spent long hours in her laboratory, or working with Harvey. And now that you were a new constant in his life, he definitely worried about losing you, too. And losing you would be a different kind of pain — something that would sting way more, much deeper, in a completely different way than losing any of the other relationships in his life.
At the moment, however, he was not concerned about all of these tangible worries. Because for the first time forever, Sebastian had a fear that was actually standing right before him.
“It’s really not a big deal if you don’t want to, Seb,” he hears your voice say softly — soft enough that neither Sam nor Abigail could hear you, despite the fact that they were standing right next to the two of you. The fact that they were loudly squabbling did help, though.
Sebastian turns to look at you ever so slightly, not wanting his friends to see the tenderness (and the subtle fear) in his eyes. You look back at him with an expression that’s lightly concerned, but mostly sweet and encouraging. He feels his cheeks warm slightly, and although his anxious heart rate does not slow, he feels somewhat calmer as he stares into your eyes.
“I do want to,” he murmurs softly, reaching for your hand. You grasp it gently, squeezing comfortingly. You trace his calloused fingertips before lacing your fingers with his once more. “It’s just… new.”
The tattoo parlor standing before the four of you is indeed new to town, having just been established a few months after your own arrival to the valley. It’s in an extremely convenient area, close by the saloon, and Abby swears it’s less than a ten minute walk from her father’s store. Having been to Pierre’s store yourself, you feel as if it’s closer to fifteen, but you suppose it’s not important enough to bring up. Besides, Abby has a tendency to run places — a quirk of hers that you found endearing enough to take her on as your first friend when you moved to town.
“You’ve had a lot of good experiences with new things recently,” you say, with a teasing edge in your voice that makes Sebastian’s flushed cheeks darken even more. Something that he both adores and despises about you is the undeniable effect you have on him and his body. He rolls his eyes as you point to yourself, giving him a winning grin.
“That’s not the same,” he insists, loud enough to finally rouse Sam and Abby from their arguing — from your fragmented comprehension of their conversation, you deduced that Sam was dead set on getting a stupidly large logo of the trio’s band, and Abby was against it simply because she never liked the design in the first place.
“What’re you getting, Seb?” Sam asks, unable to read the room, nor his best friend’s nervousness.
“Anything at all, Seb?” Abby pipes up, with her impeccable ability to read people.
“Shut up. I haven’t decided yet,” Sebastian growls, reaching up to comb his long bangs further over his eyes — a nervous quirk of his that he tended to put into practice when he was being put on the spot. “Probably something about coding.”
“Lame,” Sam says, interrupting Sebastian before he’s finished with his statement and bursting into a fit of giggles with Abby. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just messing. That’s actually really cool, man.”
Sebastian resists the urge to tell his friend to shut up for the second time in less than two minutes. He knows Sam and Abby are joking — the three of them have always joked with each other like this — but right now, his nerves are making him snappy. The only thing keeping him from calling it quits for the day was the feeling of your hand in his, your thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand in a soothing, repetitive motion.
“I won’t waste my time explaining it to you idiots,” Sebastian musters up the courage to say to Sam and Abby, “luckily, I have my dear farmer with me to balance out the brains in this group.” He shoots you a thankful glance, one that makes you chuckle softly.
“Yeah, yeah. Save your breath and just give us the run down after it’s permanently on your body, virgin.” Abby says, starting to walk off and approach the tattoo parlor.
She was the one that suggested it in the first place — and the only one in the group that had actually gotten a tattoo done there thus far. Hence, her bragging about its proximity to her father’s store, and her claim that Sebastian was a tattoo virgin. It was clean work and Abby had undeniably impeccable taste, and you told her exactly that the day she got it done and showed you. It was only a few days after that when she suggested that you bring Sebastian to meet her and Sam at the tattoo parlor, if either of you were interested in getting anything done. You weren’t interested at the moment, not fond of the idea of your tattoo getting sunburned and ruined while you were doing work on the farm in the middle of summer, but Sebastian was. He immediately agreed, not expressing it verbally but communicating his excitement clearly through his body language. He spent the rest of the night showing you examples and inspiration photos, asking your opinion, and didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning. It was cute, watching him get so excited for something.
Having had the luxury of seeing Sebastian unclothed, in all his glory, many times, you know that he has no tattoos. You can’t help but let out a little giggle at Abby’s remark, as you and Sebastian start to follow her and Sam into the parlor. Sebastian shoots you a withering glare.
“Think that’s funny?” he mutters, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he uses his free hand to hold open the door for you.
“Maybe,” you murmur back, giving him a playful look.
Before he can say anything else, Abby calls your name and motions for you and Sebastian to come over to the front counter; she and Sam had already booked their appointments and were about to sit down with their designated artists. Sebastian’s grip on your hand tightens even further, suddenly — and this time it’s not teasing or gentle, it’s got fear behind it. He loosens his grip as soon as he realizes how tightly he’s squeezing you, and he whispers an apology before the two of you make your way over.
“They’ve got one more free artist for the same time slot as Sam and I,” Abby says, already starting to leave with her artist. Sam is nowhere to be seen, and as you turn your head to look you see him sitting down with a heavily tattooed man that was around the same age as all of you. Abby too walks off with her artist — an older woman with colorful tattoo sleeves covering both of her arms — leaving you and Sebastian with the man at the front counter. You assume that he is the last artist, the one that will be tattooing Sebastian.
“Alright, so what’re we thinking today? What are we feeling?” the man asks, grinning and showing off a flashy tooth gem on one of his canines. With this statement, he confirms your assumption. You look over at Sebastian, but his jaw is clenched tightly and his eyes are trained on the floor. His lips move slightly — it looks like he’s biting his cheek — but he does not say anything. The artist looks to you.
“Seb,” you say softly, nudging him gently. “We can leave, right now, if you don’t want to do this today. We can always come back, too.”
Once again, your gentle words are what seem to rouse Sebastian from his anxious spiral, and he exhales slowly, before looking at the tattoo artist directly. “Sorry for wasting your time. I’m… not booking an appointment today,” he says, a little sheepish, but confident enough that the tattoo artist smiles and nods.
“Oh, absolutely no worries. Just come by any time you want, we have walk-ins available every day for the rest of the month,” he says, clasping his hands together.
Sebastian thanks the artist, before the two of you exit the establishment, quite quickly. You feel that same teasing squeeze as he holds your hand, no more fear in his grip. He pulls you outside, and over to the side of the building — there’s a side that faces a wall of trees and nothing more, so it’s quite shielded from the prying eyes of anyone walking by the parlor.
“I hate myself right now,” he blurts out, groaning with exasperation and letting go of your hand so that he can rub his eyes, slightly smudging his black eyeliner — though it was already intentionally messy in the first place. “Chickened out. And in front of you too… Sorry.”
“Seb, you don’t have to be sorry! What’re you talking about?” you exclaim, reaching up to grab his wrists and pull him closer to you. He fully complies, letting you pull his body flush against your own. He frees his wrists from your loose grip, his hands coming down to gently hold your waist. His gaze is embarrassed, still a little sheepish, but full of adoration for you.
“Don’t know…” he says, almost shyly. You love this side of him — this flustered, blushy side that he doesn’t show anyone, and didn’t even show you for a few months at the beginning of your relationship. “But… thank you for taking care of me. I love you…”
His voice has grown even softer, and there’s a slight whine to it now. As he presses himself closer to you, it’s your turn to blush — how did you not realize earlier? His hard cock presses against your inner thigh, and you swear you can feel it throbbing through his jeans. He lets out a full whine now, grinding against you slightly and pressing you up against the brick wall of the tattoo parlor. The rough surface of the wall scratches at your back, leaving slight abrasions on your lower back where your shirt is starting to ride up slightly. You don’t care, grinding back much harder, eliciting a choked gasp from your boyfriend before he dips his head down, burying his face in your neck so that he can let out quiet moans that are further muffled by your soft skin. Although you’re not focused on the feeling of your back getting slightly scratched up (and more focused on the feeling of Sebastian’s cock getting closer and closer to your crotch), he seems to notice, his hands reaching further down to act as a bumper between your body and the wall. His long fingers reach down, grabbing your ass and squeezing tightly, pulling you closer and harder to his shaking frame.
“Baby… you didn’t say you were feeling needy…” you murmur, a purr on the edge of your voice as you arch into his touch. Your approval and enthusiasm only spurs Sebastian on further, and he lets out a breathy moan against your neck before sinking his teeth into the supple flesh and sucking. He wedges your thighs apart with his knee before thrusting against you hard, his bulge rubbing right against your clit. “F-fuck, Seb!”
“S-sorry, I swear I wasn’t before… wasn’t plotting or anything…” he moans, his lips releasing your skin and revealing a dark bruise. A string of saliva connects his lower lip to your heated flesh for a moment, before breaking as he continues to speak. “Just love when you’re so sweet to me…” He pulls his body away from yours, and your hips chase his for a moment, growing his ego (and his cock), before he drops to his knees, pushing the bottom hem of your shirt up more, all the way to your neck so that your bra is exposed. Hungrily, desperately, greedily, Sebastian pulls at the cups of your bra until your tits pop out, and he lets out a grunt of approval as his rough hands come up and cup them, squeezing and massaging them. His lips are on your lower stomach, beneath your belly button, and you can’t help but mewl and bury your fingers in his messy fringe, tugging gently and eagerly. He presses sloppy kisses to your exposed skin, drinking in the erotic sight of you arching against the wall into his touch, as his fingers shakily undo the button and zipper of your jeans. His breath hitches as he pulls your jeans and panties down in the same, swift motion to expose your pussy — he swears, he’s never seen a prettier sight. Moaning, his eyes dark with lust, his fingers part your delicate lips to expose your sensitive pearl — exactly where you need his touch the most right now.
“Don’t make me wait,” you demand impatiently, your voice now the one that’s tinged with a whine. In nearly any other circumstance, Sebastian would spank your ass sore and fuck you until you lose your voice, but right now he’ll do anything you say. Right now, you look like an angel in the late afternoon light, completely exposed to him and only him despite the fact that anyone could walk around the corner and see the two of you.
So he listens. Immediately, he leans in and attaches his lips to your aching clit, sucking eagerly and using his tongue to simultaneously circle the sweet bud. You have to force yourself to stay quiet, inhaling sharply and pulling on Sebastian’s hair even harder, his face pressed even closer to your pussy now. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he loves it when you use him like this. He sucks with more fervor, before releasing the suction and starting to lap at your slit, his tongue dipping inside of your dripping hole every now and then — he likes the sound you make when he does it without you expecting it. His hands grab at your hips, guiding your grinding motions against his face. He moans, sticking his tongue out and looking up at you as you take control once more, your pussy sloppily dragging against his lips. From the bottom of his chin to his nose bridge, he’s coated in your slick, but it’s still not enough. His tongue laps at your pussy as you grind fiercely against him, the feeling of his sharp nose and eager tongue sending you hurting towards your orgasm quickly. Just before you’re about to cum, Sebastian grabs your hips and sucks on your clit once more, hard, and you cry out before you can clap your hand over your mouth, your eyes rolling back in your head as your thighs start to shake. Sebastian holds you up with ease as your legs start to go slack, and he slurps lewdly at your release, lapping it up like it’s the essence of immortality. Only when you start to whimper from overstimulation do his lips release your clit, now swollen and throbbing.
“Turn around. Please,” Sebastian rasps, standing up on his own shaky legs and reaching for his belt, which clinks softly as he undoes it. You wait only until Sebastian has pulled his cock out of his pants, then turn around, your fingers gripping the brick wall for any sort of support. “So good for me, so fuckin’ good…” he mumbles, rubbing his tip against your slick folds, eliciting a groan from the both of you. You can feel how desperate he is, how much he’s been holding back and ignoring his aching cock, from the way it throbs against your pussy. It’s hot and hard, twitching every time you make a slight movement. It must ache so bad, you think — and without thinking any further, you push backwards, engulfing most of his length in your tight heat. “Oh, fuck—” Sebastian chokes out, not expecting the intense rush of pleasure, and his hips jerk forward, burying the rest of his cock inside of you in one motion.
“S-Seb!” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling desperately at the wall. He presses harder against you, forcing his cock as deep as possible. You can feel his tip throbbing against your cervix, his balls twitching against your pussy. He leans down, pressing his chest to your back.
“Fuck… that feels good. You’re sucking me in, baby,” he moans lowly, drawing his hips back slowly before thrusting forward fast, making you yelp. One of his hands claps over your mouth as the other settles on your hip, gripping you tight as he starts to fuck you hard and fast. “You have to be quieter than that. Don’t want anyone hearing us out here,” he purrs, although the sound of skin against skin is louder than either of your moans.
The stillness in the air around you makes every sound seem magnified; the slaps as his hips collide with your ass, the squelches of your slick as they ooze out around his cock and drip down his balls, the jagged pants and gasps as you both try not to moan or cry out.
“Got me so fuckin’ worked up, gonna cum soon,” he gasps, stilling for a moment to grind against you, pressing his cock up against your g-spot and making your whole body shudder. The hand that’s gripping your hip releases the supple flesh, leaving behind a constellation of bruises that match his fingerprints. Instead, he moves this hand between your legs, finding your sensitive, swollen clit and rubbing in calculated circles, increasing the pressure as he feels you squirm and clench around him. “I’ll cum even faster if you keep doing that,” he grunts, feeling your walls squeezing his cock like a vice.
He quickly gives up on trying to last, his hips starting to move in rhythm with the circles on your clit. You can feel your orgasm building, the dual stimulation proving to be too intense for your already overstimulated body. “Seb…” you moan out in warning, unable to offer more specifics before your orgasm hits you hard. You don’t care any more, gasping and crying out as you grind back against Sebastian, your pussy fluttering wildly around his length. Once you realize your volume you bite your lip to attempt damage control, but Sebastian’s voice is already drowning out your own. Your orgasm triggers his, and he doesn’t hold back either — cursing loudly as he rolls his hips against yours in an erratic motion, his balls tightening up as he cums hard inside you. You can feel the warmth of it, filling your tight hole up and leaking out around Sebastian’s twitching length. Some of it dribbles down your inner thighs, pearly and thick, as Sebastian slowly pulls out, reluctant to leave your warmth but well aware that you couldn’t stay here for long.
You flip back around, leaning against the wall as you catch your breath. Sebastian does the same, flopping against the wall beside you with a forced exhale. He closes his eyes as he catches his breath, panting softly. You look over at him, admiring his sweaty complexion in the golden light of late afternoon. Some of his hair sticks to his forehead, and you reach up to gently brush it away.
“Not bad for a virgin,” you say with a grin.
Sebastian opens his eyes to give you yet another withering look. “Don’t even start.”
@ petrichor-han 2026. do not translate or repost without my permission.
please consider reblogging and/or leaving a few kind words if you enjoyed this fic :) tumblr posts revolve around reblogs, and i'd appreciate the gesture!!
hopefully i can say this without getting “cancelled” but i literally had to leave engene spaces online in order to actually enjoy enhypen’s content again even before heeseung/evan left 😭😭 i hate how toxic fans drown out the good ones and have such a negative impact on the fandom AND enha themselves </3 ur takes are always so refreshing and REAL and i agree about katseye/dream academy too because… 👀 leave my girl adela aloneee she’s thriving on tour w demi lovato!! as she deserves!!
rambling aside hiii toffee how are you 🫶 i love seeing you online!!
that’s such a valid move to make. i’m glad you left for your mental well being 🥹 my attempt at dipping my toes into enhablr (again this 2025/26) was met with issue after issue and eventually heeseung leaving. i still have a fic due, but that’s a one and done for me. and i’m getting busy with life too so… yeah 🤷🏻♀️
about DA, oh my god i really did head into it think adela was the meanest mean girl in the planet (esp with what the fandom had themselves convinced in when mean girls—the song—dropped) and she ended up being a slayvic girl who took the time out of her day to help members struggling with choreo and boost their confidence. somehow people just paid attention when she called out an existing issue that was bothering many of the girls like 😭 i’m so soooo happy she’s out there and free and slaying. i hear the streets saying it’s like watching lady gaga’s early years and i must agree 😌↕️ i can’t wait to see how far she goes in life.
sorry for the equally ramble-y reply but it had to be said 😭 hi rain! i’m doing great! so close to getting my professional license and hopefully i do get it before the year ends. it’s been a long hard journey and i’m so glad it’s almost over. did you know i got into stardew and was just so surprised seeing you have fics for the marriage candidates like 🫦 i cannot cannot wait to devour them when i have the headspace to. ESPECIALLY the recent sebastian one. (i have one save and he’s the only husband i’ve ever had 🤥 i am yet to branch out, haha sorry). i hope you’re doing well! don’t forget to take care of yourself :))
ugh i am so sorry to hear that about your return to enhablr </3 after “leaving” engene spaces online i did check in every now and then but it never felt like a good time for me to fully come back to it. trust that i’ll be checking out those newer fics tho 🙂↕️ prioritizing real life always come first and i hope that this busy time rewards you with all of the blessings you deserve!!
(cut because sorry somehow i got even more rambly LMAOOO please don’t feel pressured to reply)
honestly i really cannot blame a lot of people for having those opinions of adela, the way she came off at times was definitely a feast for editors to twist. (but like you said knowing what we do now she was quite literally just unafraid to stand up for herself and the other girls!!) i didn’t love her either initially but was shocked to see the IMMENSE hate especially after things were cleared up and everyone that actually knew the situation(s) realized adela was a sweetheart. i’ve never heard the lady gaga comparison but that actually makes so much sense and i totally see it 😭🙏 proof that haters ain’t shit and if you’re a star you’re gonna be a star one way or another!!
NO WAYYY i’m also in the process of getting my professional license!! congratulations on being so close, i can’t begin to imagine how hard you’ve worked to get here <3 good luck on this last part of the journey (and i will be cheering you on the whole time from over the internet trust 🤞)
KPOP AND STARDEW FANS RISE UP 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ hahaha omg i’m the same way, as much as i love sam (and i have my harvey and haley moments) i’ve only actually married sebastian and i don’t think that’ll ever change 😭 i have a weak spot for tsundere emo boys what can i sayyy (so don’t EVER apologize for being a loyal seb spouse 💯 in fact let’s be insane about him together!!) and i hope that you like my fics too!! if you’re interested in a stardew fanfic discord server/tumblr i can point you in the right direction <3
